Cry
Stoppage
Yes and goes
Fame woes
Beloved
Sonne knows
Rampant
Cane moans
Rum flows
Hum, tilt
Rim grows
Helen, doze
Bubble blow
Child drowns
Breathe
Friday, November 26, 2010
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
The Reading (Please join me in welcoming...)
And I start the reading. I utter the words formed before this body of people. I, at first, hesitatingly, then with accelerating courage, talk about the words I intented to be together at will. As I open and close my mouth in an increasingly incessant manner, people look at me. Not at my mouth, necessarily, but at me. And they think and reflect and ponder and muse various, various things.
Simply some say, man this is bad.
Simply some say, man this is okay.
Simply some say, man this is good.
Man, this is good, I say to myself, while saying other things to the people in front of me, listening. At least, they are listening and some of them are looking at me with a kind smile hanging by the side of their lips, some of them have a more impatient expression hovering around their whole being and some of them just fidget and fudge.
Simply some say, man this is bad.
Simply some say, man this is okay.
Simply some say, man this is good.
Man, this is good, I say to myself, while saying other things to the people in front of me, listening. At least, they are listening and some of them are looking at me with a kind smile hanging by the side of their lips, some of them have a more impatient expression hovering around their whole being and some of them just fidget and fudge.
Fidget and fudge.
I fidget and fudge a little, and as I warm to the occasion and kinda fool myself that people are really (indeed) into listening to me, my confidence starts to soar up to the skies with the speed of an air balloon I just saw yesterday, having thought that how steady and elegantly it rose with dignity. My polyphonic spree. And I---
And I---
And I waver for a fraction of a second and the hunters hidden in the audience bare their teeth with a flash! How immediate their perception! How imperious their judgment! My eyes are dazzled and I raise my hand to hide from the reflection coming from the teeth and when I manage to get a hold on my prose I feel better of a sudden and I smile, and a bright one at that.
Hunters go back to their dens.
I fidget and fudge a little, and as I warm to the occasion and kinda fool myself that people are really (indeed) into listening to me, my confidence starts to soar up to the skies with the speed of an air balloon I just saw yesterday, having thought that how steady and elegantly it rose with dignity. My polyphonic spree. And I---
And I---
And I waver for a fraction of a second and the hunters hidden in the audience bare their teeth with a flash! How immediate their perception! How imperious their judgment! My eyes are dazzled and I raise my hand to hide from the reflection coming from the teeth and when I manage to get a hold on my prose I feel better of a sudden and I smile, and a bright one at that.
Hunters go back to their dens.
The teeth disappear.
A good move, one of my friends before me thinks while I see her approving smile, trying not to betray too much.
Then what? Talk, jabber, hop, and jaw, while muscle, rip, rip, rip and bow! Perplexity starts to coat tens of faces in front of me very rapidly as I utter the ostensibly insensible words with an exclamatory tone, giving me great satisfaction. Yes, they are listening and they cannot do anything about this nonsense as they try their best to attach at least some sense to what I just uttered seven seconds ago. And yes, they will stay to the end at least for a chance to catch an embarassment on my part.
Then what? Talk, jabber, hop, and jaw, while muscle, rip, rip, rip and bow! Perplexity starts to coat tens of faces in front of me very rapidly as I utter the ostensibly insensible words with an exclamatory tone, giving me great satisfaction. Yes, they are listening and they cannot do anything about this nonsense as they try their best to attach at least some sense to what I just uttered seven seconds ago. And yes, they will stay to the end at least for a chance to catch an embarassment on my part.
We’ll see; we’ll see.
A sip of water brings the much need moisture to words as they were becoming dry and stale. Not so much, now.
And I look around for a second as my tongue and my lips help me finish three consonants and two vowels. While my most famous orifice is busy, the eyes help me notice several thoughts hanging in the air, from
having a smoke to wishing not being here in this place in the first place while, outside, there is a lively Friday afternoon waiting with a beer in her hand. I feel angry. Why not?
Delusion springs to mind immediately and without reason; I feel an unstoppable wave washing over me with some stupidly repressed nostalgia. Why am I thinking of a National song right now? Yes, inescapably, I’ll write now, in my mind, while at the same time I read, with my mouth: Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks fill my head and they dynamite their way out as soon as they are all in. Now I’m hearing that archaic cry of anguish near the end of the song, seemingly coming out of a mamooth’s mouth and it never felt this real.
This.
Real.
Which brings us to our subject which I should have started talking about long time ago: can intermetahypertextuality of life be regarded as a pseudoquasirepresentation of youthadult narratives?
Who knows?
Maybe you, maybe me.
Only thing that is certain is that one must never trust utterances – nor sentences, for that matter – starting with please join me in welcoming...
Or you may find yourself making a text which is not yours yours and which is mine yours as I read it and as you listen to it and create it in your minds again and again and again. So, please join me in welcoming this text.
We made it.
It is ours.
It is.
Ours.
A sip of water brings the much need moisture to words as they were becoming dry and stale. Not so much, now.
And I look around for a second as my tongue and my lips help me finish three consonants and two vowels. While my most famous orifice is busy, the eyes help me notice several thoughts hanging in the air, from
having a smoke to wishing not being here in this place in the first place while, outside, there is a lively Friday afternoon waiting with a beer in her hand. I feel angry. Why not?
Delusion springs to mind immediately and without reason; I feel an unstoppable wave washing over me with some stupidly repressed nostalgia. Why am I thinking of a National song right now? Yes, inescapably, I’ll write now, in my mind, while at the same time I read, with my mouth: Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks fill my head and they dynamite their way out as soon as they are all in. Now I’m hearing that archaic cry of anguish near the end of the song, seemingly coming out of a mamooth’s mouth and it never felt this real.
This.
Real.
Which brings us to our subject which I should have started talking about long time ago: can intermetahypertextuality of life be regarded as a pseudoquasirepresentation of youthadult narratives?
Who knows?
Maybe you, maybe me.
Only thing that is certain is that one must never trust utterances – nor sentences, for that matter – starting with please join me in welcoming...
Or you may find yourself making a text which is not yours yours and which is mine yours as I read it and as you listen to it and create it in your minds again and again and again. So, please join me in welcoming this text.
We made it.
It is ours.
It is.
Ours.
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